


A Weird and Wonderful Weekend

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Non-Sexual Age Play, Paternal Greg Lestrade, Protective Mycroft, Spanking, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-07-12 18:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16000655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: Another week over, another case solved, another country saved and the family descend on the townhouse to start their overdue time together.





	1. Blowing off Steam

It had been a long and arduous case for three quarters of the Holmes-Lestrade family. A particularly nasty case that had been emotionally draining on the whole family, but as expected, Sherlock had blown the whole thing apart and saved the day for New Scotland Yard once again. Greg was even more proud of the bastard than usual.

Although Sherlock’s rain soaked, Thames’ side deductions had been given in the very early hours of Thursday morning, the best part of the rest of the day had seen Greg tidying up loose ends and filling out paperwork. The offices had been noisy and cheerful in the aftermath of the case, the wonderful downtime between one murder and another and around lunchtime John and Sherlock had arrived to give their final statements. 

Sherlock had been particularly snippy with the other detectives while John had been in Greg’s office for his statement and John had been unexpectedly jovial with them while Sherlock was ushered away for his part. Eventually Greg could breathe a sigh of relief that his and his teams’ part of the case was done and dusted, and he leaned out of his office door, beckoning John with a whistle. 

John joined Greg and Sherlock in Lestrade’s office, taking his usual seat next to Sherlock and Greg shut the door to the outside world.

“I’m so bloody proud of you two! Ah, that was brilliant!” Greg ruffled both heads of hair as he strode between the seated men and made his way behind his desk.

“Hey!” John tried to smooth his hair back into its usual business cut while Sherlock leaned forward and shook his head like a dog just out of the sea. Much to John’s annoyance Sherlock’s hair bounced back to its previous form but John still looked a tad dishevelled. 

“Is that conditioner or something?” John nodded at Sherlock’s curls.

“No, just near perfect genes, thank-you.”

“Seriously, Sherlock, that was world class, that was.” Greg dropped into his seat with a sigh. Neither of the men on the other side of the desk were paying him any attention.

“Near perfect?”

“Well technically me and Mycroft come from the same gene pool and his hair…”

“Oh yeah.” John grimaced sympathetically. 

“What’s this?” Greg tried to catch up.

“Mycroft’s losing his hair.” Sherlock stated plainly, making John giggle.

“Yeah,” Greg sighed, “Poor bugger.” Greg’s eyes suddenly went wide, he pointed to Sherlock, then at the corners of the room and mouthed, ‘Is he listening?’, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Probably. But we can’t get in trouble for the truth,” Sherlock straightened up and spoke louder, “Even if the truth hurts!”

Greg and John froze for a few seconds, waiting for the door to break down and Mycroft or his goons to swarm them. When that didn’t happen, they locked eyes with each other and huffed out a sigh. 

“Don’t do that Lock, it’s not funny.” Greg grumbled, rubbing his forehead.

“It’s a bit funny.” Sherlock mumbled, sticking his tongue out in reply to Greg’s glare and instantly defusing it.

“Right, what’s the plan for tonight?” Greg asked, clapping his hands.

“Plan?”

“Yeah, do you two fancy dinner?”

“What do you take us for?” John gasped, hand on his chest.

“Oh knock it off, I’m too tired for you two mucking about.”

“Sorry, you’re right. An early bird special for two?” John started,

“They need to be in bed in their matching pyjamas by eight for their stories.” Sherlock finished.

“Oi!” Greg chuckled, “I don’t know where you two get the idea that you’re funny.”

“We make you and Myc laugh all the time.” John sounded almost accusatory. 

“Usually at you mate, not with you.” Greg chuckled.

“Mean.” Sherlock offered his best glare.

“I know, I know. Right, are you coming over for dinner?”

“Oh, do you need us to cut it up for you?” John asked in a serious, hushed tone.

“Right! Offer rescinded!” Greg waved his hands as he stood up and pulled on his jacket.

“Rescinded, Gregory Lestrade have you been reading behind our backs?” Sherlock gasped.

“Nooo, it’s Myc, he reads him the paper in the morning.”

“Oh of course.” Sherlock nodded but both men jumped up to follow Greg when he marched out of the door and jogged behind him to keep up with his stride.

“I’m not sure he can hear us over the sound of his knees.” Sherlock giggled,

“Nah I reckon his hearing’s going, Myc will have to sort him one of those fancy new hearing aids.”

“Geoffrey.”

“What?”

“Geoffrey, the fancy new hearing aid.” John completely fell apart laughing but managed to keep up as they ran down the stairs to the car park after Greg.

Greg clicked his car key and unlocked the doors, he climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door after him, but John and Sherlock slid into the back seat. Greg took a long breath before looking at them in the rear-view mirror, they were both slightly flushed, out of breath and giggly.

“Behave,” Greg growled, “Both of you, and Sherlock god help you if you kick the back of my seat.” With that Greg clicked on the car’s lights and drove out of the carpark. “Geoffrey.” He chuckled to himself quietly and in the back-seat John and Sherlock grinned at each other.

The three of them rode in comfortable silence all of the way to the town house and when they pulled up outside, John and Sherlock climbed out and waited for Greg to lead the way. Greg fumbled for his keys and opened the door, standing aside to let the two younger men through before walking in and shutting the door behind them, once again shutting out the outside world.

They were stood in the hallway taking off their shoes and coats when Mycroft appeared from the kitchen,

“Ah! Congratulations, gentlemen.”

“Thanks love.” Greg grinned as he walked over and wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Are you staying the night?” Mycroft asked as John and Sherlock emerged from the coat rack, they glanced at each other before John asked,

“Is that alright?”

“I wish you wouldn’t ask that,” Mycroft sighed, “Always. Why don’t you go and get changed out of your work clothes?” Mycroft nodded his head upwards and John and Sherlock started to climb the stairs one behind the other. “Oh, and if you can’t find what you’re looking for, I’m sure Geoffrey will help.” At that John and Sherlock raced upstairs to safety.

“So, you heard all of that lip they were giving me?” Greg asked as he followed Mycroft into the kitchen.

“I did.” Mycroft opened the fridge and took out a beer for Greg while he was getting himself comfortable on his usual seat at the island. 

“You know I’m kind of hurt you’re not pissed off on my behalf.”

“They were just blowing off steam.”

“Oh right, but when it’s you they’re just ‘blowing off steam’ about, you can hear the telling off you’re giving them down the bloody street.”

“That’s different.” Mycroft poured himself a glass of wine and leaned back against the counter top, Greg chuckled,

“How so?”

“I’m not actually as old as they tease me for being, you on the other hand…”

“You cheeky-“ Mycroft smirked behind his glass but let out an unfortunate squeak of terror when Greg leapt up from his seat and rounded the island towards him, “Give that here,” Greg took the glass from Mycroft’s hand and carefully set it aside before wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in for a kiss, “Don’t know why I put up with you,” Greg sighed fondly, leaning his forehead against his husbands.

“Because you’ve never been with someone so absurdly out of your league before- ow!” Mycroft yipped as Greg landed a hard smack on his backside.

“Behave.” Greg growled,

“Yes sir.” Mycroft nodded, genuinely trying to behave himself.

“I bloody love you.”

“I assure you, you’re love for me is not even half as great as my love for you.”

“You always have to win, don’t you?” Greg chuckled as he put a hand on the back of Mycroft’s head and kissed his cheek.

“Well I am the smart one after all.”

“Aren’t you just.” Greg kissed Mycroft again, gripping the back of his shirt in his fist in the hope that he would never be further from him than he was in that moment, not ever again.

“Urgh!” Sherlock wretched as he walked into the room, dressed in tracksuit bottoms, a t-shirt and a dressing gown.

“Oh no are they being all weird and in love again?” John asked as he peered around Sherlock, he was dressed in matching attire, minus the dressing gown.

“Disgusting isn’t it.” John nodded in agreement and sat down in his usual seat, Sherlock paused for a moment before adding, “You know you’re not meant to fancy people when you get to your age.” Sherlock took his seat next to John,

“You know dear, you’re really not that much younger than me.” Mycroft laughed, and Greg coughed loudly, “Or Greg.”

“Ha!” John barked out a laugh but instantly tried to hide it when he caught sight of Greg’s glare.

“That’s not true, I am much, much, much, much younger than you Mycroft.”

“In spirit dear, yes you are.”

“And in actual age.” Sherlock protested

“Seven years is hardly- “

“If a scary old witch in a darkened alley offered you the chance to be seven years younger you’d snap her hand off.”

“Scary old witch…Sherlock just who do you think I’m doing business with- No! Don’t answer that!”

“That should be your new job title,” John chuckled, “Scary old witch hand snapper offer.”

Mycroft laughed but added, “I don’t snap John, I shake.”

“Shake them off do you?” John smirked,

“John Hamish!”

“Oi,” Greg stepped in, “I’ll bloody shake you in a minute, knock it off.”

For a brief moment the room went silent and Greg could see the other three men processing his words, John was the first to speak,

“That made no sense.”

“Yes, Gregory your threats are becoming more and more vague,” Mycroft pondered.

“I’ll give you vague- “

“See what we mean.” Mycroft purred with a tilt to his head, “Ow!” before he skipped away from Greg rubbing his arse.

“Ha!” Sherlock pointed at Mycroft, adding in a sing song voice, “You got spanked.”

“Call that a spanking? I’ll show you a real spanking if you don’t behave.” Greg threatened. The room fell silent once again before the three other men broke out in sarcastic applause.

“Ay, he did it! An actual threat.” John cheered.

“Almost.” Sherlock added with a pointed finger,

“Eh?” John inquired,

“Well he said he’d show me a real spanking if I don’t behave. It’s hardly a threat if it’s someone else getting spanked, more of a tutorial really,”

“The boy has a point.” Mycroft nodded.

“It was close though,” Sherlock agreed amicably. 

“Close but no cigar Lestrade, I think the old man’s losing his touch,” teased John.

“Enough!” snapped Greg, smacking his palms down on the counter top. “That e-bloody-nough! If the three of you don’t start behaving yourselves, right now, you’ll all be standing up for your dinner… Too vague?”

“Not at all.” Mycroft shook his head.

“Boys?”

“No sir!” John and Sherlock responded in unison.

“Right then,” Greg dusted off his hands, “What do we all fancy for dinner- and if any one of you says something smart about dentures I’ll stand you each in a corner until our food arrives…”

“Pizza?” squeaked Sherlock, desperate not to say something that got them into trouble. Something, however, was brewing in John Watson's mind...

Greg sighed and smiled, “Good choice.”

“Finger food,” John nodded, “Smart given your arthritis.”


	2. Steam Blown

The room fell eerily silent for a brief moment, only the sound of the clock ticking away in the background could be heard. Mycroft and Sherlock stared wide eyed at John and Greg’s expression turned from one of shock to one of… he was really pissed off.

“Oi!” Greg lunged in John’s direction and the younger man threw himself from the stool he was sat on,

“John run!” Sherlock yelled, and John listened, skidding out of the kitchen in his socks. Greg was quick on his heels followed by Sherlock then Mycroft. John took a quick glance over his shoulder and puffed out a,

“Fuck.” Before taking the stairs two at a time,

“The loft, he can’t do the ladder with his hips!” Sherlock shouted after him, not in an attempt at cheek but just as genuine advice for the fleeing man. Sherlock was just about to start climbing the stairs when Greg span around and pointed down at him from half way up, 

“You’re bloody next!” he growled before going back after John.

“What did I do?!” a stunned Sherlock asked Mycroft,

“You know very well what.” Mycroft murmured before arching an eyebrow, Sherlock cast his eyes up to the ceiling as he thought back, hearing his own words again he giggled and looked back at Mycroft,

“Oh yeah.”

“Up.” Mycroft nodded his head towards the sound of Greg still chasing after John and Sherlock suddenly remembered what they were doing, taking the stairs three at a time to catch up before he missed anything good and to avoid the smacks from Mycroft that followed his giggling.

They arrived on the top floor just in time to see Greg throw himself towards a quickly disappearing John, grabbing him by the ankle as he tried to slither through the loft hatch. It appeared he had taken Sherlock’s advice, he just hadn’t been quite fast enough.

“Get down here!” Greg shouted as he yanked John’s leg,

“No chance!” came the muffled reply from John,

“I’m not letting go of your bloody leg so get down here, now!”

Sherlock took a step towards the ‘situation’, but Mycroft put a hand on each of his shoulders, gently pulling him back. 

John tried his best to wriggle out of Greg’s grasp, but it just wasn’t working. Greg stood calmly at the bottom of the ladder, waiting for John to give up the fight.

“John,” he sighed, “Come on now, that’s enough mucking about.”

“No.”

“It’s dark and dusty up there, and I don’t want you hurting yourself on a rusty nail, just come down.”

“No, you’ll bloody smack me if I come down- “

“Language, John!” Mycroft snapped unintentionally, Greg looked over his shoulder at his husband and mumbled fondly,

“One battle at a time, eh love?” before turning back to John, well, John’s leg anyway.

“Too bloody right I’m going to smack you- “

“Greg swore!” Sherlock pointed a long incriminating arm at Greg’s back as he pointed this out to Mycroft. Mycroft sighed, the audience wasn’t helping the matter,

“Hush.” He held a slender finger over his lips as if he were trying to quieten a child, obviously it worked, and Sherlock nodded, “Come on, you.” Mycroft tried to usher Sherlock down the stairs, but he resisted,

“But John- “

“Will be quite alright, come on.” As Mycroft followed Sherlock down the stairs Greg looked over his shoulder and smiled warmly at his husband, glad that he had read his mind.

“It’s hardly fair that we get told off for swearing when Greg swears all of the time,” Sherlock grumbled as he and Mycroft disappeared down to the floor below,

“I know, I know.” Mycroft grumbled back, and Greg and John were left alone.

“Right,” Greg sighed, “It’s just us, come down eh?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll ask one last time, then I’m dragging you down here…John come down.” He gave John’s ankle a firm tug to remind John that he was perfectly capable of dragging him down if needs be. He felt John relax as he gave up fighting and he moved his free foot down a rung. Greg kept a hold of him until both of John’s feet were on the floor before pushing the ladder back up behind the hatch and turning to look at the dusty man stood before him.

“Look,” John coughed up a small cloud of dust and continued, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said all of that crap. Sorry, alright?” John held out a hand to Greg who looked him up and down with a chuckle before crossing his arms across his chest.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re trying to play the ‘grown up’ card? After that- “Greg pointed his thumb in the direction of the loft hatch.

“I was just mucking about.” John murmured, mussing up his hair with his hand as he tried to shake off the dust.

“Yeah, and what did I say in my office about your mucking about?” 

John stared back at him, blankly.

“Of course, you can’t remember, probably weren’t even listening in the first place. I said I was too bloody tired for your mucking about.”

“Oh.” John looked down at his feet, at least managing to look sheepish. 

“Yeah, oh. And how many bloody warnings have you had, eh?”

“A few.” John mumbled in the direction of the carpet.

“More than a few. You should only need one, if that. My study, go.” Greg flicked a finger towards the staircase.

“Ohh,” John whined, throwing his head back in frustration, “Come on.” It was the best argument he could offer, and he knew it wasn’t one. 

Greg’s patience finally gave in, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the stairs, “March!”

John sighed dramatically but shuffled down the stairs followed closely by Greg. Sherlock and Mycroft were nowhere to be seen as they made their way back down to the ground floor. John hovered by the bottom of the stairs, hopeful of a reprieve but Greg descended the last of the stairs with a stern stare, “Study, right now.” John shuffled down the corridor and walked into Greg’s home study, followed by the older man who shut the door behind them.

“Right then,” Greg sighed as he strode across the room, John expected him to round his desk and sit down but instead he walked over to the old, high backed, leather arm chair in the corner and sat down with a tired huff. “Come here.” He beckoned John with a finger, John balked,

“Oh fuck off Greg,” John scoffed,

“What?! Greg snapped, jumping to his feet.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean-” John started to apologise, half sincerely and half out of plain fear.

“Oh, I know full well what you meant. I think you forgot yourself just then. If going over my knee is embarrassing, don’t behave like a kid in need of a good hiding. Get over here, now.”

John didn’t move.

“Right now.” Greg growled. John raised his eyes from the spot they had been staring at on the floor, he peered up at Greg. He was upset, pissed off and disappointed. A deadly combination. John sighed, he felt really shitty, and with that he shuffled over to Greg.

He heard Greg sigh and once he reached him, Greg patted him on the back, “Good lad.” Greg sat down in the chair and pulled a reluctant John across his lap.

Greg laid into John at full pelt, delivering a level of spanking that he saved for grown up John and Sherlock, and of course Mycroft although he was fairly certain that John wouldn’t be as ‘adult’ as he had been by the time he was through. He knew it hurt, he could feel it in his own hand and almost like clockwork the ever-stoic John began to wobble. 

“When I tell you enough’s enough, it’s enough, do you hear me?” Greg lectured over the sound of smacking.

“Yessir.” John replied through gritted teeth.

“Damn straight yes sir.” Greg grumbled in response, he went to pull down his tracksuit bottoms and John yelped, reaching back to hold them up. The sudden movement threw John off balance, but Greg held in place with an arm wrapped around his waist. “We’re almost done,” Greg attempted to comfort John, “Hands back down.” John relented and did as he was told. Greg continued until John was properly sorry before stopping and allowing John the chance to catch his breath. “Alright, all done, all done.” Greg righted John’s clothes and calmly held onto him until he thought he was ready to come out of his upside-down hiding place. “Ready to come up?”

“Mm.” John mumbled, and he made an attempt to slide off Greg’s lap, onto the floor and away.

“No you don’t, come on.” Greg hauled him upright and stood up with him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. “Steam well and truly blown off, eh?”

“Huh?” John mumbled into Greg’s chest.

“Oh, nothing.” Greg rubbed John’s back. “I think we’d better get you fed. It’s been a long few days, mm?”

“Yeah.” John chuckled as he tried to wriggle out of the hug,

“Ay, ay, ay,” Greg tightened his grip around John making it impossible for him to move, “The hugs not done until I say it is.”

John mumbled something into Greg’s shirt that he couldn’t quite make out, but he heard the words ‘power mad’ and smacked John’s arse anyway, after making an unfortunate squawk of pain John went soft in Greg’s arms, “You’ve used up all of your warnings for today, lippy. Watch your mouth.”

John mumbled an apology and Greg hugged him for a little while longer,

“Right, dinner time, come one.” Greg finally released John and followed him out of the study and down the corridor to the kitchen.

Mycroft was sat on his usual seat, Sherlock the same. Mycroft was taking a quick look at his emails on his phone while Sherlock lay with his head on his arms.

“Ah, there they are,” Mycroft smiled fondly, “John, come here please.” Mycroft beckoned John with a finger and he reluctantly shuffled over. Mycroft turned his attention to Greg, “I’ve ordered pizza, it shouldn’t be long.”

“Oh, I love you.” Greg sighed as he opened a cold beer and sat down,

“I know.” Mycroft smirked at his husband and turned back to John who was standing by him. “Now then,” Mycroft sighed, “I’m sure Greg has dealt with you,” John nodded and scratched the back of his neck, “But I was just as unimpressed with your behaviour, corner,” Mycroft nodded in the direction of one of the two empty corners in the kitchen, 

“But- “John started to argue but Mycroft held up a hand,

“Do as you’re told. Sherlock, you too.”

Sherlock sat up and gaped at Mycroft,

“Mouth closed and nose in the corner.” Mycroft ordered, pointing to the other empty corner.

“Why?” Sherlock whined,

“Because,” Mycroft put his phone aside and turned it over before looking back at the younger men, giving them his undivided attention, “You have both more than earned a time out since you walked through the door. I should have dealt with you both sooner. Now, go on.”

John wasn’t in the mood for arguing anymore and shuffled over to his typical corner. Sherlock sat, opening and closing his mouth over and over as he thought about answering back. Mycroft straightened his back and arched an eyebrow, holding Sherlock’s gaze. Eventually, with a huff Sherlock stood up and walked to his own corner.

“Well done.” Mycroft sighed, “I want you both to think about your behaviour. We’ll call you out when you’re done.”

Greg stood from his seat and walked over to his husband, kissing him and sighing, resting his chin on the top of Mycroft’s head.

“Really, Gregory, I’m very proud of you, that was a difficult case.”

“Couldn’t have done it without those two.”

“I know, and I’ll tell them how proud I am later. But right now, I’m telling you how proud I am of my husband.”

“Big softy, you.”

“You are the only person in the world that would ever say that about me.”

“That’s because I know you better than the rest of the world.”

“Very true.”

“How do you think they’re doing?”

“I think they’re listening.”

“They’re always listening.”

“They shouldn’t be, they should be- “Mycroft raised his voice slightly, “Thinking!” 

The two men in their corners shuffled a little uncomfortably at being caught out.

“What do you reckon,” Greg asked as he pulled his seat over, so he could sit next to Mycroft, “Think we’ll keep them for the weekend.”

“Hm,” Mycroft pondered out loud, “What do you say boys, would you like to spend the weekend?” Greg and Mycroft watched as Sherlock and John shared a quick sideways glance with each other,

“Yeah...please.” They spoke in uncanny unison adding the afterthought of please to save them both a nagging about ‘manners’. 

“Eh,” Greg half cheered, “See they can be polite.”

“Of course they can Gregory, they just choose not to be which is why they are both currently facing the wall.”

“Mm, cheeky little buggers.”

“Aren’t they just.”

“Oh,” Greg stood up, “I almost forgot,” and walked across to where Sherlock was standing, he took a hold of the younger man’s ear and gently pulled him back from the wall, landing a short flurry of hard smacks to his backside. Sherlock yelped and reached back to rub his arse,

“Ow!”

“That’s for the loft, Einstein. Just because John is running head first towards a smacking doesn’t mean you have to follow him.” Greg grumbled as he released Sherlock’s ear and guided him back to the corner. “Oh, and I think Myc said noses in the corner, not stand leisurely in the general vicinity of the wall. You two need to buck your ideas up.” Greg gently encouraged Sherlock forwards until his nose was indeed in contact with the corner before doing the same with John.

He went back to join Mycroft at the island and sat down next to him, “I think those two’ll need a short leash this weekend.”

“Mm seems that way. John, stand up straight.” Mycroft added for good measure and smiled fondly when he did as he was told.


	3. A Bump in the Night

As they waited for their dinner to arrive Greg and Mycroft relaxed in each other’s company, glancing over at John and Sherlock occasionally to check they were still behaving. After a while of chatting Greg stood to get a beer and Mycroft flicked through his phone.

“Family time, love.” Greg reminded his husband from the fridge.

“I know, I know, I’m putting it away.” Mycroft half grumbled as he turned in his seat and slid his phone into one of the kitchen drawers. When he spun back around he was surprised by John, who was now standing next to his chair. “John,” he sighed, “You’re in a time out, go back to the corner.”

“My legs is sleepy.” John moaned, flopping about a bit where he stood.

“So are mines!” Sherlock called from his corner, which he was still technically stood in, however he had turned 180 degrees and was leaning with his shoulder blades against the wall.

“Ah,” Mycroft sighed with a fond smile, recognising the change in the two. It had been happening slowly since they had been sent to their corners but apparently Mycroft and Greg were now caregivers once again. “Well,” Mycroft cast an expert eye over John and Sherlock in turn, working out roughly where they were, age wise. “You’ve got three more minutes, John, and Sherlock you’ve got four so come on.” Mycroft guided John back to his corner, “Sit down on your bum,” Mycroft pressed down on John’s shoulders gently, and the boy sat down crossed legged in the corner. He shuffled back and forth a few times, trying to get comfortable,

“My bum hurts.” John grumbled,

“Mm, that’s what happens when you’re a naughty boy John. Face the wall.” John pouted but did as he was told, and Mycroft moved over to Sherlock, “Sit your bum down as well, Lock.”

“Kay.” Sherlock nodded and sat down before Mycroft had to encourage him, Mycroft looked over his shoulder at Greg who was holding the white egg timer aloft, the boys personalised timers being at the cottage.

“Da’s going to set your timer so be good boys and sit still.” 

“Pa?” Sherlock leaned his head back, so he could look up at Mycroft,

“Quiet time in the corner, Lock.” Mycroft held a finger over his lips, but Sherlock continued, only this time in a stage whisper,

“I gots longer cos I’m the biggest, right?”

“That’s right smart boy, now eyes front.” Mycroft ruffled Sherlock’s curls and moved back to join Greg and lay the table. Mycroft and Greg busied themselves setting the table for themselves and two small monsters, catching each other with the odd smirk or wink until the timer pinged.

“Right John, that’s you done, come here please.” Mycroft called over and Greg set the timer for another minute. John pushed himself up from the corner with a tired huff and Mycroft caught Greg’s eye, mouthing ‘He’s very tired’, Greg nodded in agreement and Mycroft turned around to deal with John.

“Right then little boy, no more trouble,” he poked John’s nose making him giggle, “Go and say sorry to your Da.” John shuffled over to Greg,

“Sorry bout being mean Da.” John mumbled to his feet as he stood in front of Greg,

“Eh, you weren’t mean, you were just naughty, come here,” Greg pulled John into a hug and rocked him back and forth, “Early night for you, munchkin.” 

“A-huh,” John nodded into Greg’s chest, “Sleepy.”

“I bet you are, you sit down, dinner won’t be long.” Greg patted John’s seat and helped him get as comfortable as he could.

Sherlock’s timer pinged, and he jumped up before Mycroft could calling him, causing Sherlock to run head first into a classic Mycroft eyebrow raise. Sherlock slid backwards in his socks and when his back hit the wall he smiled sweetly and asked,

“Can I come outs now?”

“Yes, you can,” Mycroft sighed, “Apologise to Da.” Sherlock skipped over to Greg,

“Sorry I was naughty Da.” Sherlock almost sang he had the words so well-rehearsed from countless identical apologies.

“Thank you for apologising Lock, you’re forgiven. Now sit down like a good boy.”

Almost on cue the doorbell rang,

“I’ll go,” Greg called as he strode out of the kitchen and Mycroft sat down next to Sherlock.

“We’ll have some dinner then it’s bedtime, boys.” Mycroft murmured with a smile over at John who was resting his head on his arms, he went to stroke Sherlock’s hair, but he pulled away,

“I’m not sleepy!” Sherlock protested.

“Not five minutes ago you told me you had tired legs, Lock.” Mycroft sighed,

“Yeh cos I was standin forever an ever. Buh I’m not sleepy jus my legs.”

“You were not standing ‘forever and ever’ young man, and you are tired, even if you don’t know it. But I know it, because I’m your Pa.”

Greg walked into the kitchen holding two boxes that he put down on the kitchen island.

“Dinner’s served, gents. John-John, let me feed you, eh?”

“Kay Da.” John nodded as Greg sat down next to him.

“Lock, do you want me to feed you?”

“No, I do id.” Sherlock reached for the nearest box, but Mycroft swiftly slid it out of reach,

“Answer me properly, Lock.”

Sherlock gave a very put-upon sigh before mumbling, “No fank-yoo I do id.” And reaching for the box again, but Mycroft hadn’t moved it any closer.

“Mm, that’s better.” Mycroft took a slice of pizza from the box and put it on Sherlock’s plate. “There you go.”

“What do you say, Lock?” Greg added as he started cutting up a slice into fork sized pieces for John.

“Fank-yoo!” Sherlock gave Mycroft a big grin before taking an enormous bite from his pizza.

“Good boy,” Mycroft chuckled as he stated to politely eat his own slice of pizza with a knife and fork.

“Open up little man,” Greg held a fork aloft and John opened his mouth, going cross eyes as he followed the food into his mouth.

Mycroft blinked in surprise as Sherlock reached out for the pizza box again and looked down to see his plate empty.

“When did you two last eat, mm?” Mycroft asked Sherlock as handed him another slice, Sherlock shrugged. “I should have I asked you sooner, here,” Mycroft put a third slice onto Sherlock’s plate for him, “Hungry boy.” Mycroft winked at Lock and returned to eating his own dinner. “Make sure you eat something too Gregory.” 

“Oh yeah,” Greg took the fork and enthusiastically stabbed a small square of pizza, putting it into his own mouth, “We’ll share, wont we John-John.” John giggled and nodded. 

“Ow.” Sherlock grumbled causing both Greg and Mycroft’s eyes to shoot over to him,

“Lock?” Mycroft asked pushing his own plate away,

“Tummy hurts.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around his stomach and gave a very sad look to Mycroft,

“Oh dear, that’s enough dinner for now.” Mycroft moved Sherlock’s plate away and stood up, stroking Lock’s hair from his face. “I think big Sherlock went too long without eating.” Mycroft was careful to keep his tone soft, he didn’t want to chastise Lock for something that wasn’t really his fault. “Come on, darling,” Mycroft took Sherlock’s hand, “Let’s go and have a sit down.”

“Cuddle?” Sherlock asked as he let Mycroft lead him out of the room.

“Yes, let’s have a cuddle.”

Greg looked away from Mycroft and Sherlock as they left the room, happy that Sherlock was being comforted and turned back to John who had wrapped his arms around Greg’s right arm and was leaning his head on his shoulder.

“Okay champ, bedtime for you.” John grumbled a little bit as Greg wriggled his arm free but as soon as John realised Greg was going to carry him he stopped fussing and let Greg lift him up.

Greg carried John all the way up the stairs and into the bathroom without so much as a grimace.

“Bed?” John squeaked from Greg’s shoulder,

“Let’s brush those pearly whites first.”

“Huh?”

“Teeth, love.”

“Oh, Da do id?”

“Yep, Da’ll do it.” Greg put John down before guiding him over to sit down on the toilet seat. “You wait there, love.” Greg picked up John’s tooth brush, added the tooth paste and walked back over to John, “Open up.”

John let his mouth drop open and stayed still as Greg brushed his teeth.

“All done, good boy.” Greg rinsed off John toothbrush before taking his hand and leading him into the boy’s bedroom. “Let’s get you all snuggly.” Greg pulled back the covers to John’s bed and tucked him into bed before kneeling down next to the bed and stroking John’s hair.

“Close your eyes, lad.”

“Lock?” John asked, already half asleep,

“Big brother will be up in a little bit, you just close your eyes and get some rest.”

“Mmhm.”

Greg stayed with John for a couple of minutes, it only took that long for John to fall completely asleep and he pushed himself up (cursing his creaking knees) and went down to find Mycroft and Sherlock.

Greg pushed open the door to the living room to find Mycroft sat on the sofa, the television turned onto cartoons with the sound very low, and Sherlock curled up on his side, his head in Mycroft’s lap.

“Oh no, buddy, you not feeling well?” Greg asked as he approached the sofa and kneeled down again, knowing he’d have sore knees in the morning.

“Tummy hurts.” Sherlock repeated with a pout.

“Oh dear.” Greg sighed as he ran a thumb across Sherlock’s cheek, “What do you say Doc?” He looked up at Mycroft, “Medicine for the little man?”

“I think that sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll be right back.” Greg winked at Sherlock and pushed himself up before heading to the kitchen, stopping to turn off the main lights as he went, leaving Mycroft and Sherlock in the soft light that Mycroft usually used when he was reading in the evening. 

Once in the kitchen Greg found the bottle of pink gloopy stuff that was a life saver in these situations and returned to his unwell son. 

“Sit up for a moment, Lock.” Mycroft encouraged as he saw Greg returning, but Sherlock fussed and wined and covered his face with his arm. “I know, I know.” He murmured gently before turning himself to the side, so his back was resting against the arm of the sofa and pulling Sherlock up until his back rested against Mycroft’s chest, “That’s a good boy.” Mycroft stroked Sherlock’s hair with one hand and rubbed circles on his stomach with the other.

Greg poured a helping of the gloopy stuff into the lid of the bottle, “Open up brave boy,”

Sherlock nodded solemnly and did as he was told, allowing Greg to pour the liquid into his mouth. Mycroft gently closed his mouth for him and Sherlock swallowed with an over the top grimace,

“Urgh!” He spat once it was all gone.

“Well done, darling.”

“You’re a brave boy, aren’t you?” Greg winked before tapping his little finger against Sherlock’s nose, earning him a small smile.

“Yes, a very brave boy.” Mycroft confirmed, “You’ll start to feel much better very soon. I think we’d better get you tucked into bed- “

“Noooo.” Sherlock shook his head back and forth and turned onto his side, so he could hide his face in Mycroft’s chest.

“Oh, come on love, you’ll feel much better once you’re all cosy with Nelson.” Greg tried as he rubbed Sherlock’s arm.

“No no no.” Sherlock whined, and Greg and Mycroft exchanged a look, “Sleep in tha big bed.” Sherlock mumbled, and Greg noticed he had started to cry,

“Oh no, love, don’t cry,” He moved in to wipe the tears from Sherlock’s face and landed a quick kiss on the top of his husband’s head, knowing how upset he became when either of the boys really cried. “You’re feeling really poorly eh?” Sherlock nodded, “Okay brave boy, you come and sleep in the big bed with me and Pa.”

Sherlock looked up from Mycroft’s chest, “Yeh?” he hiccupped, 

“Of course, sweetheart. Deep breaths, love, you’ll be okay.” Mycroft wrapped his arms around the sad Sherlock and kissed his hair. Greg got comfortable on the floor for a moment, rubbing Sherlock’s back as he calmed himself down, flicking off the television while Sherlock was too busy cuddling Mycroft to notice. They stayed like that for a little while, allowing the medicine to kick in.

“Da?”

“Hm?” Greg blinked himself awake, he’d half dozed off as he comforted Sherlock and turned to look at the source of the noise. John was stood in the doorway, holding Bear in one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other. “John, lad, what are you doing up?” Greg sighed as he pushed himself up and staggered over to John.

“I felled.” John mumbled. Greg could feel Mycroft flinch ten feet behind him,

“What?!” Greg held out a silent hand to his husband and Mycroft turned his attention back to rubbing the back of a sleepy Sherlock,

“What happened love?” Greg asked,

“I felled in my sleeps.” John mumbled, suddenly sounding slightly teary. Greg took John’s head gently in one hand and removed John’s hand from his forehead with the other, making a sound as he sucked air through his teeth at the sight.

“So you did buddy.” John was now nursing an impressive bump on his forehead.

“Gregory?” Mycroft called,

“He’s alright love.” Greg landed a very light kiss on the bump, John winced slightly but gave Greg a small smile. “Come on silly boy, lets show Pa.” Greg took John’s hand and walked him over to Mycroft,

“Oh John, darling.” Mycroft reached out his free hand to John who gladly took it,

“I felled.” John mumbled with a pout,

“Yes, you did. Lock darling, we’ve got to make room for John.” Mycroft tried to guide Sherlock up but at the sound of his brother’s name Sherlock sat upright,

“John-John?” he mumbled half asleep,

“That’s right, Lock, come on,” Greg stepped in and helped move Sherlock along the sofa, allowing Mycroft to sit in the middle and pull John down on his other side. John instantly curled up with his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, thumb in his mouth, while Sherlock did almost the exact same thing on Mycroft’s other side, minus thumb, arm wrapped around his stomach.

“Owie.” John mumbled,

“Oh, I know dear,” Mycroft rubbed John’s arm, “Let Da have a look.” John nodded, and Greg moved in to have a good look.

“That’s a big old bump, lad. Did you fall out of bed?”

“A-huh.” John nodded.

“I should have stayed with you.” Greg grumbled to himself and Mycroft gave him an instant piercing glare which he knew meant ‘Don’t be such an idiot, this is not your fault.’ “No broken skin though, now I’ve got to touch your head for a moment lad- “

“Noooo.” John tried to hide in Mycroft’s neck, but his head hurt too much so he just started crying and chewing on his thumb,

“Just for a second,” Greg moved in before John’s pitiful appearance could convince him not to, he gave John’s forehead the once over despite John’s sad whines and was glad to discover he hadn’t actually cracked his head. Just given it a good smack with the wooden floor boards. “Alright, love, all done, good boy. Nothing horrible hidden under there, you’ve just given it a good bump.” Greg heard Mycroft sigh, “I’m going to get you some medicine.” Greg started to move to the door,

“Da is there.” Greg turned to see Sherlock pointing to the bottle of pink stuff that was still on the floor, “Oh well done love,” Greg picked up the bottle, “But John needs slightly different medicine, I’ll be right back.”

Once he was alone in the kitchen, Greg rummaged through the cupboards for the easy swallow pain killers and breathed a sigh of relief once he found them. He dropped onto one the kitchen chairs with a sigh and took a moment to gather himself before filling an empty sippy cup with water and walking back into the living room.

“Here we go, bruiser.” He handed Mycroft the sippy cup, “Da’ll do tablets and Pa will do water, okay?”

John nodded, a little unsure what Greg meant but he took the little things into his mouth and let Pa guide the cup to his mouth, swallowing every time he told him to and very quickly Mycroft was pulling away the sippy cup and Greg was letting out quiet little cheer. “Well done!” He went to ruffle John’s hair but thought better of it, instead stroking his arm. “The owies will go away soon, love.”

John nodded more confidently, knowing what that meant.

“Do you know what I think, John?”

“Wha?”

“I think you and Lock and me and Pa are all going to share the big bed tonight.”

Mycroft let out a sigh, both in relief that Greg was thinking the same thing as him and in exhaustion at the idea of the four of them sharing the bed. It was indeed a big bed, but not really big enough for four adults. They had only ever shared the bed all together when both of the boys were feeling unwell and it never meant a good night’s sleep for either Greg or Mycroft. The boy’s, however, always slept very well.

“All of us?” Sherlock squeaked,

“That’s right, Lock. And I think it’s bedtime for all good boys.” Greg winked,

“That’s right,” Mycroft agreed, “Lock, love, let Da take you upstairs.” Sherlock nodded and held out his arms to Greg who gladly picked him up. “Come on John, let’s get you up to bed.” Mycroft stood and picked up John, then followed Greg up to bed.


	4. Midnight Misadventures

Greg and Mycroft carried both of the boy’s upstairs and made their way into their bedroom. Greg put Sherlock down on his feet and yanked back the covers,

“In you hop, Mr Floppy.” 

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded and crawled into the middle of the bed, Mycroft put John down and nodded to where Sherlock was lying,

“You too, darling, into bed.”

John looked up at Mycroft and patted his mouth with his palm,

“Oh, of course sweetheart,” he walked over to the chest of drawers and removed two pacifiers from their designated draw, popping one into John’s mouth and putting the other down on the bedside table should Sherlock request it. “Now into bed, my love.” Mycroft stroked John’s hair and kissed him on the nose, John smiled and crawled into bed where Sherlock instantly wrapped his arms around him.

“My John-John’s hurt, huh Pa?” he asked Mycroft,

“That’s right darling, John bumped his head, so we have to be very gentle with him.”

“I can do tha.” Sherlock nodded as John rested his head on Sherlock’s chest.

“Of course, you can, you’re a big boy, aren’t you Lock?” Greg asked as he closed the curtains before turning around to wink at Sherlock. Sherlock grinned and continued to gently (if a little bit clumsily) rub John’s back. “I’m going to get the boys covers from their room.” Greg told Mycroft as he headed for the door,

“Maybe some extra blankets from the hallway cupboard, just in case?” Mycroft added. One of the difficulties of sharing the bed with the boys was their tendency to hog the duvet, leaving Greg and Mycroft balanced on either edge of the bed, shivering and miserable. They had started bringing the boy’s own duvets into the bedroom when they shared the bed, so they had their own thing to hog and so they had something familiar with them if they woke up suddenly in the night. Greg and Mycroft would usually pull their cover over all four of them, but extras were handy (kept on either side of the bed) in case their own duvet got kicked off by a too warm (or stroppy) child.

As Greg went in search of supplies Mycroft began to change into his pyjamas, watching over the boys fondly as he did so.

“You’re a very good big brother, Lock.” Sherlock blushed and hid his face in John’s hair,

“Fank-yoo,” He mumbled from his hiding place, peering over John’s bedhead with bright eyes.

“You’re very welcome, ah,” Mycroft smiled at Greg as he arrived carrying John’s Lego duvet and Sherlock’s Batman one. He lay each cover over its respective owner and the boys sighed, relaxed and comfortable. 

“I’m just going to fetch some water, love, do you want anything?”

“Perhaps bring up some pain killers, and some medicine for Lock, in case they need it later?”

“Good thinking.” Greg pecked Mycroft on the lips and was off out of the door again,

Sherlock pointed a long arm at Mycroft as he and John giggled, “Kisses!” 

“Yes,” Mycroft sighed, “You’re not the only ones that get kisses from Da.” This made the boys giggle more, and Mycroft turned all of his attention onto the laughing lads, “You’re cheeky boys, what are you?” Mycroft asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Cheeky!” Sherlock giggled for both boys. Mycroft chuckled and approached the bed, climbing in on his usual side and leaning forward to pull the covers up. “Cheeky boys indeed.” Mycroft mumbled to himself, he settled himself on his side and John leaned back against him. “How are you feeling, John?” Mycroft asked as he stroked John’s hair.

“Owsh.” John mumbled from behind the pacifier in his mouth,

“Ouch indeed darling. And how about you, Lock?” Mycroft looked across at the older of the two and saw Sherlock thinking, 

“Mm, kay.” He mumbled, he didn’t look much better though,

“Darling, you’re being a very brave boy, but it’s okay if you feel poorly too.” Mycroft leaned over John to stroke Sherlock’s arm,

“Tummy still hurts.” Sherlock mumbled quietly with a small nod,

“I thought so. You’ll feel better soon, though, I promise.” Sherlock nodded again, more confidently, believing Mycroft completely.

“Look at that,” Greg grinned as he walked into the room, “My three favourite boys.” He winked at Sherlock and put down the tray he was carrying, loaded with sippy cups and medicine, on the bedside table.

“Pa not a boy.” Sherlock frowned, looking between Mycroft and Greg,

“I’m sorry?” Mycroft chuckled,

“Pa is a growned up.” Sherlock nodded,

“That’s right Lock, I am a grown up.” Mycroft patted Sherlock’s arm,

“Not as grown as you like to think,” Greg scoffed as he took off his trousers.

“Gregory!” Mycroft gasped, playing up for Sherlock, John was dozing in his arms, Sherlock giggled loudly.

“Don’t you ‘Gregory’ me, mister.” Greg wagged a finger at his husband and pulled off his t-shirt. “Right, before I get into bed, does anyone need anything?”

“I think we’ve got everything, dear.” 

“Lock?” Greg asked, to make him feel included,

“No fank-yoo.”

“Oh, such a polite boy!” Greg gasped as he flicked off the light and climbed into bed, wrapping an arm around Sherlock, “Isn’t he so polite, Myc?”

“Absolutely, and isn’t he being a good big brother?”

“The very best. Close your eyes, Lock.”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock hummed, and Greg looked over at Mycroft, to see him confirm that Sherlock had indeed closed his eyes.

The four of them all dozed off eventually, Mycroft taking the longest to fall asleep, his mind running wild with images of a food starved Sherlock racing around London, desperate to solve the case and an exhausted John, keeping himself awake to watch over him. 

Mycroft was finally fast asleep and dreaming of lovely things when he was rudely awoken, winded by a knee to the stomach. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, winking himself awake and trying to catch his breath as he heard the padding of footsteps exiting the room.

“John.” He whispered to no response, he looked over to see Greg and Sherlock fast asleep and then to the clock on the bedside table that read, 03:12. He sighed as he gently pushed himself out of bed and stumbled after John.

He stumbled down the dark corridor, not willing to turn on the lights in case it woke the sleeping bears in the bedroom and found John, just as he was about to take a clumsy step off the landing and onto the stairs. “John!” He reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back away from the top of the stairs, John smiled up at him,

“Mornin!”

“No, no, no, it’s not morning yet dear, it’s still night time.” Mycroft half whispered as he rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

“Na-huh I’m up!” John spoke a little too loudly for Mycroft’s liking,

“Shush, darling, night time voices.” He held a finger over his lips and John tried to pull himself out of Mycroft’s grip,

“Telly.” He grumbled,

“No, darling, bedtime.” Mycroft tried to pull John back in the direction of the bedroom, but the little monster stamped his foot, “John.” Mycroft chastised but John paid no attention and continued to try and wriggle away, getting nosier and nosier by the second. Mycroft sighed and relented, hoping he could talk to John once they were out of earshot of the other two, and get him to come back up to bed. “Right, hold onto the banister.” Mycroft nodded his head at John’s free arm and he did as he was told, happy that he seemed to have won the argument.

Mycroft held onto John’s other hand as he helped the sleepy boy down the stairs. Once they were at the bottom, he pulled him into the front room and quietly closed the door behind them before turning on his reading lamp. 

“Right, John, it’s still night time, so I’m going to get you some milk and then we’re going back up to bed.”

“No.” John pouted and shook his head.

“Yes, now come on, let’s get you some milk.” Mycroft went to open the door, but John tugged hard on his arm, trying to get away.

“Toons!” He stamped his foot again,

“John Hamish.”

“Toons, toons, toons!”

Mycroft had heard quite enough, and he reached down, smacking John’s backside twice, hard. On top of the spanking he’d received the evening before it must have stung, and John went limp almost instantly, pouting up at him with watery eyes.

“That’s enough, John.” 

John sniffled, and Mycroft sighed, “Come here, darling.” He pulled John close and stroked the back of his head, “Let’s get you some milk and we’ll have a cuddle on the sofa, hm?” John nodded into Mycroft’s chest and he readjusted his feet before hoisting John up. “Oh dear, someone’s not having a good day, are they?” John didn’t respond but rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and put his thumb in his mouth.

Once they were in the kitchen, Mycroft sat John down on his usual seat. “You wait there darling.” He warmed up some milk and poured it in to a bottle, took a couple of pacifiers from the drawer and slipped them into the pocket of his pyjama shirt and walked into the utility room, pulling a blanket out of the cupboard and throwing it over his shoulder before joining John again. “Come on sweetheart,” he held out his hand and John took it, shuffling behind him back to the living room.

Mycroft positioned himself back where he had sat before, with his back to the arm of the sofa and John climbed up on top of him, his cheek on Mycroft’s chest. He used his free arm to throw the cover over them both and held the bottle with his left hand, while he rubbed circles on John’s back with the other.

“That’s a good boy.” He murmured as John started to drink the milk. With some effort he managed to pick up the television remote from the floor where Greg had discarded it the night before and flicked on one of the child friendly channels, turning it on mute. John’s eyes focused in on the colours and shapes and Mycroft whispered the story of his day at work to him.

After a little while, when John started to doze, Mycroft whispered, “Let’s go back up to bed, darling.”

“Nooo.” John whined,

“Come on, we’ll be more comfortable up there.”

“Nooo, stay wif Pa.” John mumbled as he held onto Mycroft’s arm

“Of course, dear, I’ll cuddle you when we’re up in bed.”

“My ‘ed has an ouch.”

“Oh sweetheart, I know. We’ve got some more painkillers upstairs for you.”

“Pa make tha bump go?”

“I can make the ow go.”

“Yeh?”

“Yes, come on, let’s go and get you some medicine then we’ll have a cuddle in bed.”

“Mm, kay.” John pushed himself up off Mycroft and waited for the older man to stand up and take his hand, walking them both back upstairs.

Once they were in the bedroom Mycroft sat John down on the bed and gave him some more tablets, helping him with the water and kissing him on the nose when he had swallowed them. “Brave boy,” he whispered before ushering him back under his covers and getting into bed next to him. John curled up with his face pressed to Mycroft’s chest and he wrapped his arms around him, not caring how uncomfortable he was, as long as John was happy.

Greg was having a wonderful dream, he couldn’t remember what it was about, but it was a nice one. Then he was poked in the eye.

“Ah.” He blinked the assaulted eye open and found that he was being stared at by a very awake Sherlock.

“Ello!” Sherlock grinned.

“Shhh.” Greg tried to muffle Sherlock’s voice against his chest but the boy starting wriggling. He was really very good at wriggling and was out of the bed and out of the door before Greg was even fully awake. “Shit.” Greg grumbled under his breath as he climbed out of bed and went after the escapee. 

Sherlock had obviously made a quick dash for the stairs and Greg was a few steps from the ground floor when he heard a loud crashing noise that he knew well as the sound of a box of Legos being dumped onto the floor.

Greg walked into the living room where Sherlock was sat on the floor, using his palms to spread his Legos as far and wide and possible,

“Da can John come and play toys wif me?” he asked plainly, as if it wasn’t… Greg checked the clock on the mantle… 4.05.

“No lad, it’s bedtime, come on.” Greg held out a hand for Sherlock to take, but he ignored this.

“I’m not sleepy anymore.” Sherlock shook his head and started to build whatever masterpiece he had decided on.

“Yep, you are.” Greg walked over and hoisted Sherlock up,

“Nooo!” He wailed far too loudly for that time in the morning, Greg plonked the boy back on the floor,

“Hey, are you throwing a tantrum?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“No!” Sherlock shook his head furiously.

“Good, now come on, upstairs.” Greg held out a hand again and he could see Sherlock consider the idea but decide against it.

“No fank-yoo I’m jus gunna play.” Sherlock turned his attention back to his toys,

“Nope, you’re going back to bed.” Greg took a hold of Sherlock’s arm, but he went completely floppy, knowing that it made it harder to lift him up. “Lock, enough, bum up those stairs, right now.” 

“Buh I’m not ti-er-ed!” Sherlock kicked his feet against the floor and tried to yank his arm away from Greg.

“Right.” Greg let go of Sherlock’s arm and crouched down in front of him, he matched Sherlock’s glare and pointed a finger, “This is your warning, lad.”

“Buh…Buh- Buh,” Was just about all Sherlock could mumble, trying desperately to think of a good enough argument for him to be allowed to stay downstairs and play with his toys. An exhausted Greg sighed, he pushed himself up and walked over to the sofa, “Come ‘ere and give me a hug, eh?”

“Hug?” Sherlock squeaked from the floor.

“Yep, come on.” Greg beckoned him with his hands and Sherlock shuffled over. The second he was within arm’s reach of Greg, his Da swept him onto his lap. “There ‘e is.” He mumbled as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close. Sherlock sighed, put his thumb in his mouth and rested his head on Greg’s shoulder. For a few minutes Greg shushed Sherlock and rubbed his back and mumbled the little bits that he could remember from some of Sherlock’s favourite bedtime stories. Eventually, Sherlock’s breathing slowed, and Greg could tell he had dozed off.

It took all of the dad superpowers that Greg had been learning over his time with John and Sherlock, to stand up and carry Sherlock back up to bed without waking him up. A couple of times Sherlock stirred but Greg just hummed to him and it seemed to send him back into his deep sleep.

Soon enough Greg was tucking Sherlock back into bed and climbing in after him. He was just about to close his own eyes when he saw Mycroft’s eyes shining back at him from over John’s shoulder. He winked at his husband, kissed Sherlock on the cheek and leaned across John to take Mycroft’s hand. A few moments later the four of them were asleep again.

Mycroft stirred when he felt the boy in his arms squirming. When he opened his eyes, his heart broke as he saw John’s face, he was in pain and he was quickly developing two black eyes. As soon as John saw Mycroft was awake he started to cry, and Mycroft quickly stood up,

“Okay, darling, come on,” he held out his arms and John clung to him, letting Mycroft lift him up and carry him out of the room. “It’ll be alright, John.” He soothed as he carried a weepy John downstairs to the kitchen. Once they were there he sat John down on the floor and took a pacifier from the drawer for him, “Here, you be a good boy and wait right there for me.” John looked devastated but nodded and Mycroft filled two bottles. One with water and the other with soluble pain killers. When he looked down John was clinging onto his leg for dear life.

“Okay poppet, we’re going back up, you hold my hand.” Mycroft helped John up and carried the bottles under his arm as he led John up the stairs and into the boy’s bedroom. John looked up at him, unsure, but Mycroft put down the bottles on John’s bed. “Sweetheart, you stand right there for a moment.” As quietly as possible, and invoking his own burst of superhero dad strength, Mycroft span John’s bed around so it was leaning against the wall. “Okay, you climb in dear.” 

John whined and shook his head,

“I know, I know,” Mycroft mumbled as he rubbed John’s back, “We’re going to have a cuddle, in you get.” A little happier knowing Mycroft wasn’t leaving him, John climbed into bed and moved over until his back was against the wall. “That’s a good boy.” Mycroft slid in after him, so he was trapping John between himself and wall where there was no chance of a second fall. He adjusted the covers, so they were both comfortable and moved both of the bottles to the floor by the side of him. He helped John get comfortable with his head on his chest and picked up the bottle holding a water and painkiller mix.

“Open up, dear.” 

“Oww.” John whined,

“I know love, I know, but this will help.” John latched onto the bottle and started to drink. Mycroft hummed as he emptied the bottle before switching if for the bottle of water. “Such a brave boy.”

Greg woke up from a few hours of relatively peaceful sleep (he had only been kneed and elbowed by Sherlock…twenty times) to find that he and Sherlock were the only ones in the bed. Sherlock was fast sleep on his stomach, spread out like a starfish but there was no John and no Mycroft. As quietly as humanly possible, Greg climbed out of bed and crept down the corridor in search of the others. 

A quick peek around the door to the boy’s bedroom revealed Mycroft’s night-time room rearrangements as well as a sleeping John and Mycroft. John was most definitely asleep, breathing deeply with his head on Mycroft’s chest, but his husband was only dozing. Greg tip toed across to the bed and crouched down, whispering “Myc.” Mycroft’s eyes opened, and he turned his head to look at him.

“Good morning dear,” Mycroft half whispered, half croaked back, “Is it morning?”

“Near enough, it’s just after six.” Mycroft groaned and closed his eyes again. “I know love, go back to sleep for a while. How’s Clumsy?”

“Poor thing had a bad night. How’s Trouble?”

“Fast asleep. I’m going back to bed while it lasts.”

“I think this one is going to be quite… fragile today.”

“I’ll keep the other monkey busy for the morning, lunch together?”

“That sounds lovely.” Mycroft mumbled before breaking out into a yawn, Greg leaned in for a quick kiss. 

“Back to sleep love.”

Mycroft nodded without opening his eyes and Greg made his way back to their bedroom.

Greg managed to slide himself back into bed, bending to fit in around the starfish in the middle of the mattress. By some miracle he managed to fall asleep again without ever waking Sherlock and the two of them slept for a little while longer.

“Da…” Greg groaned, still half asleep. “Da.” He could feel Sherlock moving around on the bed next to him, “Da!”

“Lock.” Greg reluctantly opened his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbows to look at Sherlock who was now kneeling on the bed.

“I’m up!” Sherlock grinned down at him, Nelson held under one arm.

“So you are lad.” Greg looked over his shoulder at the clock, 7:55, he couldn’t really complain about that.

“You is too,” 

“So I am, come here for a minute.” Greg leaned back against the headboard and gestured for Sherlock to join him, which he did.

“Where’s John-John?”

“John-John is asleep in his bed with Pa.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t feeling very well.”

“Cos a his bumpy head?”

“That’s right.”

“Can John-John play now?”

“No, Lock I think he’s going to rest this morning.”

“Oh…” Sherlock pouted.

“But you and me can have some fun this morning.”

“Yeh?”

“Absolutely, what do you want to do?”

“Park? Sherlock asked immediately.

“We can go for a little walk to the park. But-“

“Ohhh.”

“Oi, quiet you,” Greg smirked, “But…you need to have a bath when you get back.”

“Whyyyy?!”

“Because you didn’t have one last night.”

“Poorly last night.” Sherlock pouted, looking very sorry for himself, clearly playing for sympathy.

“That’s right, but you’re not poorly this morning, are you?”

“Ahuh!”

“Oh, really? That’s a shame, I guess we can’t go to the park then.”

“No fair, you said!”

“If you’re not feeling well, we can’t go out, Lock. But if you’re feeling better we can.”

“I’m better.”

“Are you sure? I won’t be cross if you’re not.”

“No I’m betterer.”

“Good, we’ll go to the park then.”

“On tha big slide?!”

“If you’re a good boy on the walk there.”

“I be good.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Oh, oh!” Sherlock tugged on Greg’s arm trying to get his attention even though he already had it.

“Yes?” Greg chuckled,

“Push me really really really high on tha big boy swings?”

“Mm, I don’t know, really, really, really high?”

“Yeh!”

“Maybe…if you’re good.”

“I’m always good.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and Greg barked out a laugh.

“Right then my good boy, let’s get you something to eat.”

“Na-huh, park then eat.”

“Nope, brekkie first, no arguments.”

“I’m not hung-a-ry!”

“Well are you Poland then?”

“Huh?” Sherlock looked up at Greg, confused.

“Nothing,” Greg grumbled, the boys never got his jokes when they were little. “You’re eating breakfast before we go to the park, Lock, and that’s that.” Greg stood up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants before returning to the bed where Sherlock had decided against arguing as long as Greg picked him up. He was kneeling on the bed, reaching up to Greg. “Oh, alright then, come on.” With a loud grunt Greg lifted Sherlock off the bed and carried him downstairs.


	5. Going to the park and other great ideas...

“Lock, sit back down.” Greg called without looking away from the toaster. Sherlock stopped where he was, halfway out of the kitchen door and on his way to play with his Legos. 

“I wanna play!” Sherlock whined, and Greg sighed as he turned around, putting a plate of toast on the table for himself and Sherlock,

“Breakfast, Lock, come on.”

“No!” Sherlock pouted, handing on to the door handle,

“Right now.” Greg clicked his fingers and pointed to Sherlock’s plate before sitting down at his own seat and taking a bite. Sherlock didn’t move, and Greg could see that he was deciding whether to do as he was told…or not. “If you don’t sit down, right now, we won’t go to the park.”

With a very loud sigh Sherlock released the door handle and stomped over to sit down, “Fine!” He collapsed onto his seat and pushed his plate away, leaning forward with his chin on his arms to glare at the toast in front of him.

“Watch the attitude, mister.” Greg warned before leaning across to push Sherlock’s plate back towards him, “And eat your breakfast.”

“Not hungry.” Sherlock mumbled as he flicked the plate back to where it had been a moment before.

“Very last warning Lock, or we won’t go to the park, I mean it. Eat up.” 

Sherlock let out a loud frustrated noise and scratched his head as he tried to work out what he wanted more, to go to the park, or to not eat his breakfast. He decided that the park was far more fun than food was boring and started to eat.

“Good lad.” They ate in comfortable silence, Greg keeping a close eye on Sherlock the entire time. When both plates were empty Greg cleared to counter, “Stay right there, I’ll be two seconds.” Once everything was cleared away from breakfast, Greg ushered Sherlock over to the sink to wash his greasy hands. 

“Right,” Greg started as he walked behind Sherlock down the corridor, “You go and play with your toys like a good boy and I’ll be down with your clothes in a minute.” He steered Sherlock through the door to the living room and turned away towards the stairs,

“I’ll help!” Sherlock declared excitedly and side-stepped Greg before hopping up onto the first step of the staircase.

“No, no, no,” Greg lightly took his arm and pulled him back down to the floor, “You play nicely, I’ll be down in a flash.”

“I wanna see John-John!” Sherlock whined loudly as he was guided back towards the living room and the mess of Legos he had started playing with in the night.

“I know you do, but John’s sleeping right now, you can see John when we get back.”

“Ohhh.” Sherlock pouted, and Greg pulled him in for a hug,

“I know lad, but you’re being a very good big brother, now play nicely.”

“Okay.” Sherlock nodded and waited for Greg to release him, so he could go back to his toys.

Greg raced up the stairs two at a time and rushed to get himself dressed and ready before checking in on a worried looking Mycroft and a dozing John.

“He’ll be alright love, just gave himself a bit of a fright. Nothing more than a bump.”

Mycroft nodded glumly and planted a kiss on John’s forehead.

“I’m taking trouble out to the park, give us a call if you need anything.” Greg planted a quick kiss on Mycroft’s lips and retreated to the drawers to collect Sherlock’s clothes before heading back downstairs to get him ready to leave.

He walked into the living room, concerned that Sherlock would have found trouble for himself but in a pleasant surprise, he was sat playing with his toys.

“Oh, what a good lad!” Greg cheered as he joined him, Sherlock looked up at him and grinned,

“I’m being good, right Da?”

“You’re being so good. Let’s get you dressed and ready.”

Sherlock jumped up from where he was sitting and raced towards to Greg, pulling off his t-shirt as he went,

“Oh, easy there Lock,” Greg chuckled as Sherlock collided with him, “Let me help.” Greg helped Sherlock get dressed, even letting him do the Velcro on his own shoes before walking him out towards the front door. “Right, it’s cold and windy out there so let’s get your coat on,”

Sherlock pushed past him and pulled on the door handle, growling when it didn’t open.

“Lock, coat, come here,” Greg mumbled as he checked his pockets for his keys and phone and grabbed Sherlock’s coat from its customary hook.

“Don’t need it,” Sherlock kept yanking on the door, stamping his feet in frustration as it still wouldn’t open.

“Yes, you do,” Greg mumbled before noticing Sherlock at the front door, “Oi!” He stepped over and smacked Sherlock’s bum, 

“Ow!” Sherlock released the door so he could rub his backside,

“Do you touch the front door?” Greg asked sternly with a pointed finger.

“No.” Sherlock pouted.

“No. Now come here and let me put your coat on.”

“No coat!” Sherlock stamped his foot and Greg raised an eyebrow, he was starting to think this may not be the best idea.

“Yes coat, come on.” Greg held up Sherlock’s usual ‘little’ coat and Sherlock shook his head. With a sigh Greg moved over to him and manhandled him into his coat, Sherlock fussed and made the job difficult but eventually, Greg was able to zip it up. “There.” Greg huffed as he pulled on his own jacket. “Hand.” Greg held out his hand for Sherlock who pouted and stuffed his balled-up fists into his coat pocket.

Greg took a deep breath and counted back from ten in his head. When he was finished he locked eyes with Sherlock again and held out his hand, “Hand, Lock.” With a frown Sherlock relented and removed one of his hands from his pocket, Greg grabbed it and swung open the door, “Let’s go.” 

As they walked along the pavement, Sherlock didn’t say anything, he just hopped up and down every now and then out of excitement. Every single time they needed to cross the road, Greg had to yank him back as he made an attempt to stride out with no consciousness of the danger around him. After the fifth time this happened Greg pulled Sherlock into a nearby alleyway.

“Sherlock!” Greg took a breath to calm himself, “Lock. You do not walk out into the road until I say it’s safe. You know that!” 

“Taking too long.” Sherlock whined, pulling on Greg’s arm to try and get them back onto the pavement and back on their way to the park.

“Hey!” Greg pulled hard on his arm, and Sherlock’s attention snapped back to his Da. “Behave, right now, or we’re going straight home.” 

“No!” Sherlock turned up the volume and used his free hand to try and pry Greg’s fingers off of his arm. Greg knew that a full-blown tantrum was about ten seconds away and he made a last-ditch attempt to reason with the boy.

“Lock, calm down and then we can keep walking.” Greg offered in his calmest tone of voice. For a brief, wonderful moment he thought it had worked, tantrum averted but then Sherlock furrowed his brow and glared back at Greg.

“Fuck you!” 

Greg’s eyes went wide, and he just about managed to avoid actually gasping. Sherlock had never sworn at him like that before (when he was little). Sherlock fidgeted where he stood, his arm still gripped by Greg, he puffed through his nose and looked somewhere between furious and devastated, his eyes watery and his cheeks red. 

“Home.” Greg growled, and he pulled Sherlock out of the alleyway and back towards the house, dragging him by his arm. Sherlock stumbled a little bit as he tried to keep up with Greg’s strides. The people they were passing seemed to think nothing of it as Greg marched back to the house, stopping again at every crossing and holding him a foot behind him until it was safe to cross. 

Before long Greg was pulling him up the stairs to the door as he fumbled in his pockets for the door keys.

Greg remembered at the very last second not the slam the door behind them as he pulled Sherlock into the hallway, shutting it quietly to avoid disturbing Mycroft and John. He said nothing to Sherlock as he unzipped his coat and hung it up before taking off his own jacket. Sherlock shuffled on the spot and looked at the rug under his feet. Once the coats were put away Greg crouched down and took off Sherlock’s shoes for him, putting them back in their usual spot before standing up straight and grabbing Sherlock by the arm once again. 

He pulled Sherlock down the hallway, through the kitchen and into the utility room at the back where he rummaged in one of the cupboards for something Sherlock couldn’t see. Greg pocketed whatever it was before picking up one of the small wooden stools they kept stacked in the back room (usually used for the extra few inches required when changing the light bulbs in the high-ceilinged house). 

Still not saying a word, Greg led Sherlock back to the living room where he put down the stool in the corner. He placed a hand on each of Sherlock’s shoulders and pushed down, “Sit.” Sherlock did, so he was sitting down still facing Greg. Greg crouched down in front of him and removed a new bar of soap from his back pocket, he removed the wrapping and stuffed it into his pocket before holding up the soap in front of Sherlock. “Open.” 

Sherlock sniffled, his eyes watery but did as he was told, and Greg gently placed the soap into his open mouth. Sherlock frowned immediately as the taste hit his tongue.

“Bite down.” 

Again, Sherlock did as he was told, and Greg stood back up, taking Sherlock by the shoulder and turning him around to face the corner. 

“Five minutes, then I’ll deal with you.” Greg mumbled as he walked back towards the sofa and collapsed onto it. He leaned forward, rubbing his face before coming to rest with his head in his hands. He was surprised by the extent to which he found he needed to calm down. Tantrums happened on an almost daily basis when you lived with two toddlers (and a Mycroft) but that had actually hurt him, just a little bit, but it had hurt. Little Sherlock thought Greg was the bee’s knees, mean occasionally, but mostly he looked up to him as some sort of real-life action man. Being told to fuck off by him was something he had ever predicted. 

He physically shook himself out of his little rumination. It was easy to overthink the things Sherlock and John did when they were ‘young’. It was particularly easy to do so when married to Mycroft Holmes, the resident Mayor of overthinking. Sherlock had been a combination of excited, frustrated and probably somewhat confused given the turn of events with John, the most likely explanation of the outburst was fairly simple, a patented Sherlockian tantrum, just turned up to eleven. 

It was at that moment that Greg realised he hadn’t been keeping an eye on the time. He was fairly certain he hadn’t disappeared into his own thoughts for hours, he wasn’t a Holmes after all and rather than risk overdoing it with the boy in the corner he decided to call time on the soap.

“Alright,” he groaned as he stood up, walking over to Sherlock, “Turn around, Lock.”

Sherlock spun on the spot and stopped himself when he was facing Greg, he looked very sorry for himself. Greg crouched down and took a hold of the end of the bar of soap, “Open up, lad.” Sherlock did, and Greg gingerly removed it from his mouth, not wanting to coat the backs of his teeth any more than necessary. He stood back up straight and wiggled the fingers of his free hand at Sherlock, “Come on, let’s get you some water.”

Sherlock nodded and wiped his face his sleeve as he let Greg lead him through into the kitchen. Greg discarded the soap with a thud into the kitchen sink and rinsed off his hands before filling a sippy cup with water. “Here you go,” He murmured as he handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock instantly latched onto it but after a few gulps Greg pulled it back, he blinked up at his Da, slightly confused, “Spit that out in the sink, Lock.” Sherlock nodded in understanding and did so, before drinking the water again. When the cup was empty Greg asked, “Want some more?” but Sherlock shook his head. “Alright then, come on.” Greg put the cup aside and took Sherlock’s hand again, leading him back through to the living room.

He sat back down on the sofa and pulled Sherlock to stand in front of him. “Right.” Greg sighed and looked up at Sherlock, “Do you swear at me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head furiously.

“No. Do you use bad language, ever?”

Again, Sherlock shook his head.

“No. That was very, very naughty Sherlock.” Greg intercepted Sherlock’s hand as it made its way up towards his mouth, “No thumb.” Once Sherlock’s hand was back at his side Greg moved to pull down the soft tracksuit bottoms he was wearing. 

“No!”

Greg’s eyebrows shot up as he looked up at Sherlock who was frowning once again.

“Sherlock,” Greg growled but Sherlock tried to pull away,

“No spanks!” 

The words that oh so nearly escaped Greg’s lips were ‘Yes bloody spanks you little shit,’ but he didn’t think those words would be well placed given the current situation. 

“Two options, my boy,” Greg mumbled, “One, you do as you're told and I’ll smack your bum or two, you keep acting up and I’ll go and fetch the paddle and use that instead. What’ll it be?”

Sherlock whined and shuffled about. Paddle was a strong word for a now well-used table tennis bat, but it stung like a bitch.

“Sherlock?” Greg prodded, keeping his voice calm.

“I’ll be good now. No smacks.” Sherlock spoke quietly. 

Greg sighed, before wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s thighs and pulling him even closer between his knees, he rested his chin on Sherlock’s stomach and looked up at him kindly. “I know you’ll be good now, but you were naughty, weren’t you?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded sadly.

“Lock, why did you say that?”

“Say what?” Sherlock peered down at Greg, confused.

“Why did you say…” Greg caught himself and stopped, it seemed too big a question to ask Sherlock at that moment, after all, it didn’t seem as though Sherlock had some great plan to drag Greg into the middle of the street and swear at him. It had just happened. He’d talk to Mycroft about it later, he’d explain everything for him, he knew Sherlock’s mind better than Sherlock himself. “Nothing, lad, Da’s just getting old.”

Sherlock giggled, and Greg winked,

“Right, trouble, let’s get this over with then you can help me make lunch.”

“Haff to?”

“Yes love, we have to. Over you go.”

Sherlock reluctantly bent over Greg’s knee, his torso resting on the sofa and his head hidden in his arms. Greg stroked his hair before getting on with it. By Greg’s standards, it wasn’t much of a spanking. His heart wasn’t in it, it was more of a case of showing Sherlock that he wouldn’t cave on a punishment. After all, they were both tired and he wasn’t half as upset as he had been twenty minutes before.

“Alright lad, all done.” Greg murmured as he stroked his back, Sherlock turned his head to look at Greg and his Da was surprised to see he was crying. He didn’t think he’d smacked very hard at all, but then Sherlock was very little. 

“Done?”

“Done sweetheart, come here.”

Sherlock wriggled off of Greg’s lap and positioned himself next to him on the couch, wrapping both of his arms around one of Greg’s and leaning his head on his shoulder.

“Brave boy, eh?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded. 

“How’s your tummy feeling?” Greg had a horrible feeling that the soap may have aggravated the issue from the night before.

“Mm,” Sherlock thought about it, “Okay I thinks.” Greg sighed in relief and patted Sherlock’s stomach.

“What do you fancy for lunch?”

“Err, dunno.”

“Okay, well what do you think your John-John would like?” Greg asked as he used his free hand to stroke Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Err, oh, soup!”

“Soup?” Greg chuckled, it was a far more sensible answer than he had been expecting.

“A-huh, cos John-John’s poorly and when you’re poorly you have soup.”

“That’s…you’re a brilliant boy, you know that?” Greg asked as he kissed Sherlock’s forehead.

“I’m clever, huh?”

“You’re very clever. Soup it is. Why don’t you go and find your Pa and John-John and I’ll get some lunch ready?”

“Da come?”

“No sweetheart, I’ll just be down here, you go and find Pa.”

“But Da come?”

Greg laughed as he peered down at Sherlock, “Are we friends again then?”

“Course.” Sherlock nodded, a little confused, when hadn’t they been friends?

“Okay brave boy, you go and find Pa and John and bring them down to me, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll come back down to Da.”

“Good boy.” Greg smiled as Sherlock reluctantly released his arm before climbing off the couch. As he stood he turned back to Greg,

“I’m bein’ good so the stool can go ‘way.”

“No,” Greg sighed as he stood up, “The stool is staying exactly where it is, and if you can’t behave yourself your bum will be straight back on it.” 

“Stupid stool.” Sherlock mumbled under his breath,

“No, it’s not the ‘stupid stool’,” Greg grumbled as he turned Sherlock in the direction of the door, “It’s the ‘naughty boys who can’t behave themselves’ stool, now go and fetch Pa and John.” With that, Greg swatted Sherlock out of the room.

 

Mycroft was sat up in John’s bed, fully dressed and lying over the covers while John slept tucked up next to him. He was doing his best to put out parliamentary fires via his phone when the door swung open.

“Pa!” Sherlock hopped over and jumped onto the bed, landing on Mycroft’s legs.

“Owf, careful of my knees Lock.” 

John started to stir, having been woken by the shaking mattress. 

“How was the park?” Mycroft asked as he put his phone away,

“Didn’t go.” Sherlock pouted,

“Oh no? Why not?”

“I ran on the roads and told Da to fuck off.” Sherlock mumbled very quickly.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft’s eyebrows shot up and he sat forward, ready to punish.

“Da already spanked.” Sherlock told Mycroft’s knees and Mycroft instantly relaxed,

“Well, so I should think. That was very naughty, we’ll talk about that later. Honestly, Sherlock, goodness me.”

“Lock!” John suddenly perked up when he had woken up enough to notice Sherlock was in the room, he threw back the covers and crawled over to his brother.

“Hi poorly John-John.”

John curled up next to Sherlock, his head on his shoulder and his thumb now in his mouth.

“Misshed you.” John mumbled,

“Ahuh me too.” Sherlock nodded as he patted John’s back. “Is lunch now.”

“Lunch?” Mycroft asked, and Sherlock nodded, “Ah, how lovely, come on then, let me up.” The boys shuffled slightly out of the way and Mycroft pulled himself up out of bed. Sherlock went to stand but a very floppy John wobbled as he moved.

“Uh-oh Pa.” Sherlock mumbled,

Mycroft’s eyes snapped up to the boys where he saw John reaching for him.

“My John-John’s little huh?”

“You’re both little,” Mycroft smiled down at Sherlock, lightly pinching his cheek, making the little man giggle,

“’E’s tha littlerist.”

“Yes, John’s the littlest.” Mycroft bent his knees slightly so he could get a hold of John and with a huff, lift him onto his waist. He held out his other hand for Sherlock, “Hold my hand like a big boy.”

“Yeh!” Sherlock grinned, hopping up off the bed and taking his hand.

When they reached the top of the stairs Mycroft realised the precarious situation he was in, “Gregory, dear!” he called down the stairs, a few seconds later a slightly flustered Greg appeared at the bottom of the banister.

“Love-“ He started to ask before he turned around and saw the three of them waiting at the top. “Ah,” Greg dashed up to meet them, two steps at a time and took Sherlock’s hand,

“Da!”

“Well done my good lad, let's go.” Greg helped Sherlock down the stairs as Mycroft carried the still half asleep John down towards the kitchen.

“Something smells delicious,”

“Soup, Lock’s idea, wasn’t it clever clogs?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock grinned as he followed after Greg.

Once they were in the kitchen Mycroft and Greg settled each of the boys into their usual seats before Greg ushered his husband into his own chair,

“Lock,” Greg called from the counter, “Do you want to feed yourself or do you want me to do it?” 

“Big boy!” 

“Okay, here’s your spoon,” Greg handed him his bright red Flash spoon before placing the matching bowl in front of him, “Now go slowly champ.” 

Sherlock nodded and started to take tiny mouthfuls. 

“Now what about you, monkey? Are you going to let me feed you?” Greg asked John as he handed Mycroft his own bowl and placed a plate of sliced toast in the middle of the table,

“Pease Da?” John asked sweetly as he rubbed his tired eyes.

“Absolutely, can’t say no to such a polite boy, can I? And you’d better finish your lunch too, Myc.” Greg grumbled the afterthought as he sat down next to John.

“Yes dear,” Mycroft mumbled before winking across the table at Sherlock. Sherlock giggled which only egged on an overtired and playful Mycroft, so he pocked he tongue out at Greg when he thought he wasn’t looking.

“Oi!”

“Sorry dear, I didn’t think you’d see that.”

“Well obviously not, stop being cheeky, or you can sit on the stool.” Greg nodded his head in the direction of the living room before feeding John a mouthful. “What are we going to do with these Holmes’s eh John?”


End file.
